The Poets Didn't Lie
I've found the most beautiful pieces ever written and compiled them for your enjoyment
The subject of poetry brings up mixed feelings in some people.
In others, only the feelings that the words insinuate. It can be a pompous subject, and writers like me don’t help that. Thats why I’m giving you something to skim, nothing too heavy, nothing too long, just a selection I’ve collected over the years,
I won’t give you a breakdown either, turning something that should be fun into an academic chore.
No, this is a light introduction.
Besides, the fun comes from deriving your own meanings.
Tennyson – ‘Ulysses’ (closing lines)
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield
I first heard this a Bond film, Judy Dench reads it in a courthouse as the villain closes in for the kill.
Rudyard Kipling – ‘If’
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Micheal Caine does a brilliant reading of this classic. I first heard it from him on YouTube. Caine changes “sixty seconds worth of distance run” to “forty”. An alteration I find touching.
Rudyard Kipling – ‘For All We Have and Our’ (closing lines)
No easy hopes or lies,
Shall bring us to our goal,
But iron sacrifice, of body, will and soul.
There is but one task for all, one life for each to give.
What stands if freedom falls?
Who dies if England lives?
Kipling lost his son in the Second World War. I read his collected poems which were organised in chronological order, this event marked a change in his life, and his writings.
Compare to the tone of the previous poem.
Lord Byron – ‘Epitaph to a Dog’ (opening lines)
Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
Byron loved dogs – as do most. But loved them more than people; not a healthy attitude, but most good works of art come from hurt people.
Unknown – ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave Cry’
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; I did not die.
If you’re familiar with Taoism, this may standout for you. The Tao (pronounced da-ow) is one of the most ancient Chinese beliefs; it is the underlying force of nature that drives all creation. The idea conveyed in the above always made me think of someone returning to that power after death.
Lao Tzu – The Tao De Ching (The Book of the Way) poem 1
The Way - cannot be told.
The Name - cannot be named.
The nameless is the Way of Heaven and Earth.
The named is Matrix of the Myriad Creatures.
Eliminate desire to find the Way.
Embrace desire to know the Creature.
The two are identical,
But differ in name as they arise.
Identical they are called mysterious,
Mystery on mystery,
The gate of many secrets.
How do you name something that is nameless? without form? The Tao Te Ching tries to do this by using vague hints; being over 2,500 years old, it is the foundation book of the Tao.
Though subtle – like a small flowing stream – its power is ultimate. To align with the Tao, you need to let go of pride and any attempt at forcing: only through being at one with nature, do you gain the power of nature.
Miyamoto Musashi – Closing lines of the ‘Book of the Void’
Enact strategy broadly, correctly and openly. Then you will come to think of things in a wide sense and, taking the void as the Way, you will see the Way as void.
In the void is virtue, and no evil. Wisdom has existence, principle has existence, the Way has existence, spirit is nothingness.”
Musashi is one of Japans most famous samurai turned ronin. Rumoured to have had 62 duels in his life, which he won all, because if he didn’t he would have died before old age. Japanese religion was influenced by Taoism, which you can see in his style of writing.
Kahlil Gibran – ‘Beauty & Ugliness’
Upon a day Beauty and Ugliness met on the shore of a sea. And they said to one another, “Let us bathe in the sea.” Then they disrobed and swam in the waters. And after a while Ugliness came back to shore and garmented himself with the garments of Beauty and walked away. And Beauty too came out of the sea, and found not her raiment, and she was too shy to be naked, therefore she dressed herself with the raiment of Ugliness. And Beauty walked her way. And to this very day men and women mistake the one for the other. Yet some there are who have beheld the face of Beauty, and they know her notwithstanding her garments. And some there be who know the face of Ugliness, and the cloth conceals him not from their eyes.
Poetry doesn’t need to rhyme, and can take the form of a parable like this one.
John Milton – ‘Paradise Lost’
“All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.”
Paradise lost is a 250+ page book, and is considered a poem. Does it rhyme?
William Shakespeare – Sonnet 29
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possesed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented at least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For they sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
I’m not a fan of Shakespeare, but this is nice.
Kahlil Gibran – ‘Defeat’
Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.
Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.
Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.
Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.
Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.